


From the Ear to the Heart

by KaelsMiscellany



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Fluff, Multi, Pianist!Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 09:06:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4954513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaelsMiscellany/pseuds/KaelsMiscellany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter frowns at the note. No, this isn’t what he expected at all. He stares at the paper as he walks back to his piano, not sure what to make of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [catvampcrazines](https://archiveofourown.org/users/catvampcrazines/gifts).



> So it's all Cat's fault again! xD She reblogged that Tumblr post about the pianist who got a request via note and made it Pydia, then, of course, tagged me in in and [this](http://catvampcrazines.tumblr.com/post/130350803378/this-got-too-long-for-askxd) happened (all extant things are linked there too).
> 
> So yeah, and since it's her birthday I decided to post part one.
> 
> Also [this](http://thecorcorangroup10amspecial.tumblr.com/post/45022759167/march-10-2013-exquisite-clock-tower-triplex-1) is the inspiration for Peter's apartment.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~and I'm totally going to rename this fic, I just can't think of a good name RN.~~

Peter’s nearing the end of his warm up arpeggios when there’s a knock on his door. Stopping he sighs and gets up, hoping it’s not another neighbor asking him to close his windows, he prefers having them open when he plays—especially now that it’s getting on towards summer.

When he opens his door though he finds himself frowning, because there’s no on there. He takes a step back as he closes the door—maybe whomever it was thought knocking would be enough for some reason—and his bare foot hits paper instead of wood. Looking down he sees a folded up piece of yellow notepad paper.

Stepping off it he crouches down and picks it up, he finds it strange that whomever left it would knock _and_ leave the note, when in Peter’s mind they could've just had this conversation face to face; but perhaps it’s a shy neighbor—not that Peter’s yet to encounter any of those in this complex.

He unfolds it as he stands.

_To the pianist,_

_I would like to request_ Der Erlkönig _._

_Thank you,_

_L_

Peter frowns at the note. No, this isn’t what he expected at all. He stares at the paper as he walks back to his piano, not sure what to make of it.

On the one hand it’s nice that someone seems to appreciate his playing, on the other he’s never had a _request_ before, and definitely not so complicated a piece; true it was no Rachmaninoff, but one never turned their nose up at Schubert.

Setting the note down on his piano he wanders over to his music collection, easily finding the right folder and after a little riffling—he really should organize these better—finds the right one; he grabs a few more pieces as well that he’s been wanting to play again for a while now. Back at his piano he sits and begins his warm up again, a break in the routine is no excuse to slack off.

His eyes scan _Der Erlkönig_ as he sets up the sheet music, refamiliarizing himself with it. Then he really can’t put it off much longer and dives right in, easily getting caught up in the rapid gallop of notes.

As the last resonant note fades from the air he feels the usual sort of exhilaration he always did after a performance, even if this one technically had no crowd.

But there’s still applause, he realizes with a start. A single pair of hands clapping quickly, probably from one of the balconies below.

He _could_ get up and peer over to try and figure out who it was, but instead he sets the Schubert aside and moves on to Haydn.

*

The next morning he realizes he needs to go grocery shopping and gathering up his bags gets in the elevator.

It stops on the next floor down, admitting one Jordan Parrish and the Hoovers’ two dogs. “Morning,” Parrish smiles at him, before turning his attention to the dogs, who are staring at Peter as if he’s going to start petting them.

“Morning,” he responds. Parrish is unusual in the complex in that he doesn’t technically live here—the young man is apartment sitting for the Hoovers while they took a year to travel the globe. “I would have thought you would already be at work today?” He hardly stalks Parrish, it’s just after three months you tend to know someone’s general schedule, especially when they’re a cop.

“Nah,” Parrish smiles. “I worked yesterday, to cover for Will since it was his anniversary. So Clarke is covering for me today, with the caveat that I’ve got to pick up her sister after school. So the boys and I get to go for a run this morning.” Both dogs perk up, as if the mere mention of running is enough to excite them, Peter finds himself smiling.

They fall silent for a few floors before Parrish speaks up again. “So that practice of yours started really intense last night.” While Parrish has readily admitted he knows next to nothing about piano music it still manages to please Peter that the other man still asks him about it, and has mentioned from time to time how he enjoys listening to Peter play.

“Yes, well it was rather an intense piece. It’s about a father taking his sick son to the doctor, and as they ride the boy keeps telling his father he sees Der Erlkönig, the alder king, who wants the boy for himself. Well the father tells the boy he’s imagining it, but by the time they reach the doctor the boy’s dead. Usually there’s a singer accompanying the pianist.”

Parrish blinks. “Wow, that’s really dark.”

Peter laughs, though not meanly; Parrish’s outside view refreshing. The elevator dings as they reach the lobby and they both step out, Parrish fighting slightly against the dogs who see the street through the glass doors.

“Hello Jordan,” a pretty redhead calls out.

Parrish smiles as he drags the dogs over to her. “Hey Lydia, thanks for watching Mem and Or the other night.”

“No problem, Prada loved it.” She replies.

Still smiling Peter leaves Parrish to his possible romance and steps out onto the noisy street.

*

It’s a few days later, and Peter’s shuffling home after a _very_ long concert, the sort that leaves him pleased, but mentally exhausted. He intends to stumble into his apartment, fall on the couch in the remains of his tuxedo, and let sleep take him.

Except there’s a note taped to his door. He stares at it uncomprehendingly, his mind not wanting to work that hard after making nice with donors and aficionados. His free hand—the one not holding his jacket, cumberbund, and bowtie—darts out and yanks it off his door. He, just as planned, stumbles into his apartment; and after leaving his hands full of things on the kitchen counter staggers over to his wonderful couch and falls into it face first.

After a bit of wiggling he has his pillows right where he wants them and slips into sleep.

In the morning he’s woken by sunlight, streaming in from all his windows. He finds himself sitting up with a smile, and getting off of the couch he goes into his bedroom to shower and change.

When he gets out the pile of stuff he left on the counter last night seems to glower at him disapprovingly, he rolls his eyes at it and starts a pot of coffee, _then_ goes to clean up after himself; glad he didn’t get flowers, otherwise they’d probably be dead. Picking up the jacket he blinks as a piece of paper falls out.

At first he has the odd notion that one of the women, or perhaps a man, from last night slipped him their number—it happens...rarely. But then he recalls that it’d been taped to his door last night.

Picking it up he unfolds it.

 

_To the pianist,_

_The concert last night was lovely, and I had a wonderful time._

_Thank you,_

_L_

He blinks again. Taken aback. This is certainly something he’s never encountered before. Oh he’s gotten letters, and flowers, and all sorts of gifts before. But those have always been to the PO box he has set up for such things.

It’s not exactly _unsettling_ that this person apparently knows where he lives; it’s just...different. It’s clear that this ‘L’ means nothing more than to compliment him, and ask for a request once. But it’s strange that such a ‘casual’—nothing’s truly casual when tickets are at least a hundred bucks a pop—concert goer is apparently one of his neighbors.

His coffee machine beeps at him, pulling him out of his thoughts with a start. Giving himself a shake he leaves the note on the counter and pours himself a cup, popping a bagel in the toaster while he takes his first sips.

*

A week passes and things have more or less gone back to normal. He hasn’t received any more notes from his mysterious ‘L’, and to be honest they’ve kind of drifted from his mind, what with the director wanting to try out some new music, and their annual summer tour fast approaching.

So yes, notes of any sort have fallen to the wayside in the face of stress and lots of late nights.

But still, on the weekend Peter takes time to practice for himself. Not letting himself think of anything other than what he wants and the music. He leaves his numerous windows wide open, not even thinking to close them until Monday rolls around. It means his apartment turns slightly chilly, but that’s what coffee and cardigans were for.

It’s Saturday and Peter’s getting ready to dive into Gershwin—he only half blames going out drinking with Derek last night—when he hears the shush of paper against wood.

Setting his coffee down he goes over to his door and sees that there’s a folded up piece of paper halfway down the entryway. Finding himself intrigued to see what ‘L’ says this time he grabs it and opens it.

Except the handwriting is completely different this time.

_Hey Peter,_

_So uh, I don’t know if this is exactly ‘acceptable’ or not. ~~And if not then, you know, just ignore this.~~ But I was kind of hoping you could play Stravinsk ~~i~~ y’s ~~(is that how you spell it?)~~ piano sonata ~~(did he write more than one? Google says he did but it’s got other things in the title, so I hope you know which one I’m talking about. And wow I’m kind of impressed I was so close in the spelling)~~ I heard Will talking about it the other day and got curious. Thought it might be nice to hear it ‘live’ for the first time, instead of as a video on YouTube._

_...I’m going to toss this under your door now, before I embarrass myself further…_

_Jordan_

Peter stares at the note bemused.

On the one hand he’s a little put off, because he’s not a play-on-request pianist. On the other he finds it kind of sweet that Parrish ‘came’ to him with something like this. And well, honestly Peter’s sort of flattered.

Of course he’s not sure if he _has_ Stravinsky’s Piano Sonata. After a few minutes furious searching he’s come to the conclusion that he, in fact, does not.

But instead of going out to buying it, or going downstairs and explaining to Jordan that he sadly doesn’t have that piece, he does something he’s never done in his whole adult life.

He goes online and downloads it.

As his printer spits it out he takes the time to go over it, this is a piece he’s never played after all, and it would be good to familiarize himself with it before actually attempting to play it. Once it’s all done he brings it over to his piano and setting up the music sits down and mimes playing, all the better to find the kinks that might come about from playing it.

From what he can tell it’s an interesting sonata, much shorter than some of the ones he’s played, and seems to fit in with his general jazzy mood.

So after a few more dry runs he gets up, pours himself a fresh cup of coffee, grabs a snack, then sits right back down and does his warmups.

When that’s done he finds himself staring at the Stravinsky piece nervously, it could be said this is the first time he’s basically picked up music blind because someone asked him to, and it’s an...unusual feeling.

Still, no time like the present right? He hums the first few bars to himself, just as reminder. Then setting his fingers on the keys he plays.

It’s actually a fun eight minutes or so, even if there are one or two mistakes that he makes. Unlike when ‘L’ requested their music, when he’s finished with the sonata he finds the energy of it still has him and he immediately moves into _Rhapsody in Blue_.

It’s a fun two hours, and Peter finds by the end of it all of his stress has melted away, and he’s smiling when he takes a sip of his cold coffee.

Getting up he goes onto his balcony, and leans over the edge, hoping Parrish’s window is open. “I hope you enjoyed it,” he doesn’t bother with shouting, that would just make him feel ridiculous.

A few seconds later Parrish’s head cranes out from his own balcony. “Yeah! Thanks! Though...to be honest I’m not sure which one was the one I asked for.” A flush creeps across his cheeks.

Peter quickly hides his smile behind his mug, he’d rather Parrish not think he was laughing at him. “The first one,” he whistles a few bars.

Parrish brightens. “Oh, yeah, that one was good. Though I kind of liked the one you played right after it more.” He says it as if that’s a bad thing. “It sounded familiar too.”

“ _Rhapsody in Blue_ , it’s in a lot of commercials, and in that _Fantasia 2000_ movie Disney did.” Peter makes a little face, he much prefered the original—seriously who put Elgar’s _Pomp and Circumstance_ march with the story of Noah’s ark?

“Oh! My sister loves watching that, the flamingos are her favorite.” Jordan grins, seemingly happy in general.

Peter sees no reason why he has to hide the fact that he has no idea what Parrish is talking about. “Honestly I only ever watched the _Rhapsody_ and _Firebird_ portions, my nephew said they were the only ones worth watching.” But it doesn’t mean he hasn’t read up on some of the bigger pieces. He feels a little bad that Derek probably has to suffer through all of it quite a few times because of his daughter Sophie, but his nephew is a strong boy.

“ _Firebird_?” Parrish asks.

But before Peter can respond there’s a knock on his door. “Be right back,” he tells Parrish before padding over to his front door. Once again there’s no one there—it’s starting to become so commonplace that Peter thinks he might be surprised when there actually _is_ someone at his door—but on the ground in front of him is a paper plate piled high with chocolate chip cookies, along with a note balanced precariously on top of them.

He picks up the note and reads it.

_To the pianist,_

_I had forgotten how much jazz helps me focus. Thank you for reminding me. I hope you like the cookies, they were the only ones I could whip up on such short notice._

_Thanks again,_

_L_

Ah, the mysterious ‘L’ once more.

He picks up a cookies and bites into it, pleased to find they’re still warm and gooey. Taking the whole plate he goes back out onto his balcony. “Sorry about that,” he calls down to Parrish, taking another bite of cookie. “You were asking about _Firebird_?”

Parrish blushes a little, “I, uh, looked it up on my phone while you were gone. Sorry.”

“It’s perfectly alright.”

Parrish only gets as far as opening his mouth when Peter hears the sounds of dog barking, and Parrish sighs. “Well, looks like I’m being summoned. Thanks again for the music.”

“You’re welcome, it’s always good to have someone else get interested in your passion.”

Smiling again Parrish vanishes from his balcony and Peter retreats back inside himself to enjoy his cookies with _hot_ coffee.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are folks, the end of the line. Hope you all enjoy it!

It’s a few days later, and he’s tired and in a frustrated cranky mood because sometimes directors are assholes and, like every year, he swears this is his final summer concert tour. He all but drags himself into the lobby of the complex and goes over to the mailboxes to see what he’s gotten today.

The redhead he’s seen Jordan talk to is there, dropping off some mail to be picked up. And it’s completely by chance that he looks over and sees her handwriting on the envelopes.

“ _You’re_ L?!” Not the best way to say it probably.

Definitely not the best way to say it, what with the way she stiffens as she drops in her last envelope. She turns to face him, and it’s the first time he’s really _looked_ at her—though he doesn’t think she’d appreciate him saying she looks quite lovely—and glares. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Of course with the current state of his brain he’s liable to screw things up even more if he lets himself speak for much longer. So he forces out a slightly strangled “no”, then basically runs away to the elevator, mail forgotten.

She, at least, doesn’t follow so he has it to himself; which means there’s no one to give him strange looks when he bangs his head against the polished mirror that makes up the back wall.

Peter’s met some real asshole pianists in his time, and he’s always kind of prided himself on not joining their ranks. But, as his nieces and nephew will attest to that didn’t mean he doesn’t have his moments. He’s just now more frustrated that L had to be party to one; Christ and he still doesn’t even know her _name_.

He manages another groan at himself before the elevator dings at him and the doors slide open to reveal his floor. He fumbles his keys as he reaches the door, something he’s never done before, not even when drunk, but after what feels like forever manages to actually get into his apartment.

Without even thinking he goes and opens up all his windows, the cool evening air rushing in immediately and soothing his ruffled temper. To calm himself even more he takes a long hot shower.

Once that’s done he feels like a human being again and has a good idea of what to do.

Getting dressed again he heads back out, this time taking the stairs to the next floor down. Going to the right door he knocks, and hopes Parrish is in.

The sounds of dogs rushing to the door come in quick response, and if Parrish didn’t somehow hear the knock it’d be hard to miss the dogs. A few seconds later he hears footsteps and his shoulders sag in relief.

Parrish opens the door and after one good look at Peter his expression turns to frowning confusion. “Is something wrong?”

“What apartment does the redhaired woman you talk to live in?” Usually Peter doesn’t let himself get worked up over things, but he really does feel bad for what he’s done and wants to make up for it.

The frown deepens. “Lydia? She lives in eight at the end of the hall. Why?”

_Lydia_...well he has a name now at least. “I was rude and I want to apologize. What does she like?” Probably not the most appropriate question he could have asked—but then again this seems to be a night of that—but Cora’s always more willing to listen to him when he bribes her so maybe it’ll work here also.

“Just go over and apologize to her,” Parrish laughs. “Trust me she’ll appreciate that more than a bribe.” Peter’s not sure if he likes it or not that the other man caught his drift.

Resisting the urge to pout he nods and manages a ‘thanks’ before walking off to the end of the hall. Of course while Peter’s never had...performance issues, dealing with near strangers in situations like this is not his preference. But he does want to fix this, so here goes nothing. Raising his hand he knocks on the door.

Like she knows it’s him on the other side she takes her time in answering, or maybe she’s not in. He did only see her in the lobby, and she could have just come back or was heading out; he hoped it was the former however.

Apparently despite his earlier blunder it was his lucky day, because not five minutes later—he may have counted, and was more than willing to wait that long—the door opens. “Sorry I was busy...oh.” Her expression shifts from polite to closed off, which he probably deserves.

“I just wanted to apologize for earlier. I had no right to act that way to you, and I’m sorry.” Despite his occasional dislike of human interaction, he’s glad he did this.

She looks at him for a few seconds before giving a sharp nod, her expression relaxing some. “Apology accepted.”

They stand there, awkwardly for a few seconds before Peter breaches another topic. “So what do you do?” He recalls her saying the jazz from the other week helped her focus, and as he stares over her shoulder—well over her head really—he sees what looks like space pictures on some of her walls.

“I work at the local planetarium studying neutron stars and planetary nebulae.”

Not what he was expecting at all from her, if he’s honest with himself. But he’s damn well in control of his voice now so he’s not going to say it and dig himself a new hole. He is however going to be honest. “I don’t know a single thing about either of those.”

She smiles, and she really is lovely. “That’s alright, it still frustrates me that you can’t harmonically tune a piano.”

“Oh thank God I’m not the only one,” that slips out unintentionally, but he’s alright with that. But that really is a pianist’s worst nightmare, piano tuning.

It earns him a laugh at least.

Since his body insists that he should sleep soon he says a brief goodbye then heads back up to his apartment, once again crashing on the couch before he even reaches his bed—he does it often enough that Derek asked him once why he even had a bed, which was such a ridiculous question that Peter hadn’t bothered answering.  

-

Over the next week he gets another note from Lydia, not a request of any sort, just her wishing him well on the concert tour; but after receiving it he does play her some jazz as a sort of thanks. And he asks Jordan—”Look if I’m gonna water your plants you might as well call me by my first name.”—to at least keep an eye on his apartment, get his mail, and yes, water his plants.

And then he’s off, a whole month and a half of traveling and playing. It is exhilarating on occasion, but for the most part it’s just tiring. And he’ll be grateful to go home and not-sleep on his own bed, play his own piano—at least the one’s he’s been playing are tuned thank the music gods—talk to his neighbors; he exchanged numbers with Jordan just in case something came up and they’d started texting back and forth, but it wasn’t really the same as a conversation.

So when he does get home he’s mostly just relieved to be there. It’s late at night, so his plan is basically to sleep, as he enters his apartment. Every light except the one in the kitchen is off, not that Peter minds, however the kitchen light reveals two piles on his island, one that’s basically mail, and the other that looks to be completely comprised of folded up pieces of paper. _Notes_.

But Peter’s too worn out to really think about either, so he staggers to his room, undresses, then falls into his bed.

In the morning he awakens to the smell of coffee permeating his apartment, and he finds himself giving a contented smile, which quickly turns into a frown because someone that is not him started coffee. But who the hell would break into his apartment and make coffee?

He staggers out of his bedroom with half a music stand, only to find his main area empty. The light in the kitchen’s been turned off, and his coffee pot is bubbling away, with a note taped to it. Setting aside the music stand he goes to the pot, wondering why this shit happens before he’s awake enough to really comprehend it.

_Peter,_

_Saw that you were home and thought you might appreciate someone else starting the day for you. Your house key’s on the counter. ~~And I gave you some milk for cereal.~~_

_Jordan_

_Oh._ Peter blinks at Jordan’s note, and feels a sort of affectionate warmth, also a growing need to eat breakfast and have coffee. So he gets out his favorite coffee cup, pours out some brewed coffee and peering in the fridge indeed does see a tupperware container that has some milk; which Peter is willing to go with for now.

He also finds in his cupboard little baggies full of various cereals, as if whoever put them there didn’t know what sort Peter liked. And if Peter indulged in nostalgia and ate Trix, well no one _really_ needed to know.

As he ate he sorted through his mail. Junk he attempted to toss into his recycling bin, everything else got sorted into ‘now’ and ‘later’, though there wasn’t much in the ‘later’ category.

That done he moved onto the notes. Not at all surprised to see most of them were from Lydia, however the occasional one from Jordan caught him off guard, they’d been texted nearly every day and the man still left him notes? Strange, yet oddly sweet—Peter’s willing to admit he’s a bit of a romantic at heart.

Jordan’s are fairly short, mainly just ‘thinking of you’s, and things he could have easily said over texts. And makes him wonder if Jordan’s trying to make more in their relationship than it currently stood. Something he’s not exactly opposed to, it’s just that none of the conversations or texts they’ve had have had that implication; so maybe he’s just reading into it because he hasn’t had sex in a while.

While Lydia’s are a bit on the rambling side, full of equations and notes he can’t even comprehend in the margins. But he likes that too, although he has to hope that none of those things are wildly important to her research.

As he eats it becomes a sort of game to see how well he can sort them chronologically. The Jordan ones, since they nearly all say the same things, he counts as a wash right away; though a few make good signposts for the timeline. So he sorts them out from the Lydia pile, then gets to work.

By the time he’s done with breakfast, he ran out of milk after his first bowl so he just ate the cereal dry and drank coffee between mouthfulls, he’s got a rough sort of timeline, but there’s still quite a few notes that don’t seem to have specific reference points. From what he can tell she left the first one the day he left, and her last one yesterday; in fact there’s nearly one per day.

The sheer number of them is unexpected, and makes him wonder what Lydia might be trying to tell him. After all they’ve only had one real face to face encounter, everything else has been notes, and her going to some of his concerts.

It’s all more confusing than it should be really, and he’s still too travel-lagged to really think about it. So instead he finishes off his coffee and throws open all his windows. It’s getting toward the end of summer now, but the days are still pleasantly warm, so he feels nice and comfortable as he sits in front of his piano.

Placing his fingers on the keys feels more like coming home than entering his apartment had, and he feels unnoticed tension leech out of him as he begins his warmup. When he finishes he doesn’t go and pick out pieces to play, instead improvising—something he’s sure Derek would approve of—and letting his fingers go where they would. From time to time bits of recognizable music seeps in, but for the most part it’s all just a strange jumble of notes; but it has no resemblance at all to a concert piece and that’s exactly what he wants.

The music comes to a discordant end and, reverently slow Peter brings down the lid of his piano, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath.

He ruins his own moment when his stomach decides to rumble, reminding him he’s only got dry cereal in his kitchen. Which won’t do at all. Getting up he goes back into his room and dresses, while a lot of people might enjoy it he’s not sure shopping in his boxers is the best idea.

As he dresses he has an idea, but he’s not really sure if he should go through with it. But also why not?

Grabbing his keys and his bags he takes the stairs down to the next floor and knocks on Lydia’s door. A few seconds later she opens it, blinks owlishly at him then smiles. “Hello. How’re you?”

“Not too bad,” he smiles back. “Thank you for the notes. I enjoyed them. Though I hope you didn’t have any important work on them.” Not that he can understand if it’s important or not, but that doesn’t matter really.

Her cheeks redden in a slight blush, even that’s lovely in a way, and she shrugs. “No,” her smile grows a little wry. “It’s not like in school where they want you to show _all_ your work. I can do all of it in my head, but the first time around I like making signposts, on the off chance I get lost. But after that the calculations are easy enough to keep track of.” The way she says it so very casually catches him off guard for long enough that the words don’t really register at first.

Then they do and the fact that this woman can do something like that all in her head is staggering. He manages to mentally pull himself together again, because he’s got more than idle chit-chat in mind. “Would you like to come up to my apartment for dinner tonight?” He doesn’t put any special emphasis on it, giving her the choice on whether or not it might be romantic, on the other hand she’s not the only person he’ll be inviting; so at least to start not necessarily romantic.

“Sure, I didn’t have much planned beyond takeout, so a homecooked meal sounds great.” Behind her a small dog begins to bark and she rolls her eyes. “His majesty calls. Should I bring something?”

“You don’t have to,” he’s never really expected anything of guests beyond good conversation and company. “Though I wouldn’t say no to more of those cookies.”

She laughs. “Aright, when should I come up?”

“Sixish.”

“See you then,” she smiles again and closes the door.

Now to invite Jordan...he takes the short walk to the man’s door and knocks.

Agamemnon and Orestes start barking right away—good thing there was decent soundproofing between apartments—but Jordan doesn’t answer. Frowning Peter consults his mental calendar, coming to the conclusion that Jordan must be working at the moment. So he pulls out his phone and texts Jordan his invitation. Getting into the elevator he keeps his phone in his hand while he waits for Jordan to respond.

He’s out of the complex before he gets a resounding ‘yes’ in response. Peter texts him the time. Now all he has to do is figure out what he’s going to make.

-

In the end he settled on carbonara, since it was easy and delicious. The downside was it didn’t take that long to prep, meaning he’s got a lot of time to burn before he can cook the pasta and combine everything.

So he probably gives his whole apartment the most thorough cleaning it’s ever had, then when that’s done and he still has time he marches right up to his filing cabinet of music and starts to organize everything.

He’s got everything up to the ‘P’s in order when there’s a knock on the door. Unceremoniously shoving everything back into the last empty drawer he checks himself over to make sure he’s at least decent, then goes to answer.

It’s both Jordan and Lydia, Lydia with a plate of cookies and Jordan with two bottles of wine. “I wasn’t sure which you’d like,” Jordan says with an abashed smile when Peter invites them in.

He takes both bottles and leads them into the kitchen. “Have a seat,” he gestures to the stools at the island while he stows the bottle of white in the fridge. “It’ll be a few more minutes before we eat,” he says as he turns of the pot of water to boil, adding in the pasta right away.

“That’s alright,” Lydia responds as she and Jordan watch him do the last minute stuff.

Jordan nods with her.  “So how was your tour?”

Which launches them into a varied and meandering conversation that lasts through dinner and dessert. By the end of which they’ve finished off the white and are halfway through the red.

They’re all sitting together on his couch, limbs sprawling and put everywhich way, Peter at least slightly drunk enough that he doesn’t really care. It’s pleasant though, their conversation fallen silent, each of them in their own little world as they finish off the red.

“Thank you for inviting us,” Lydia doesn’t even sound tipsy, yet another thing to be impressed by.

“Yes,” Jordan agrees, a sort of dopey smile on his face. he definitely sounds tipsy, but with three of them drinking he’s still probably mostly in control of his faculties.

Not that Peter’s expecting anything to happen, with either of them. He just wanted to show appreciation for people who seem to genuinely want to be his friends. “It’s not a problem,” he responds easily, feeling a little tipsy himself; but it’s a good sort of feeling, he doesn’t make a habit of drinking so giving into excess is not his norm, but he won’t resist.

Lydia hums a few bars of a song he doesn’t recognize, not surprising considering he rarely listens to popular music, then declares. “I don’t think I can move, we can just sleep here on the couch right?”

It startles a laugh out of him, one that grows when Jordan chimes in in agreement. “I’m fairly certain you haven’t had _that_ much to drink.” Two bottles won’t render one unable to move.

“Well maybe I want to stay here,” Jordan announces, much to Peter’s surprise.

“Mmm, he’s got a point,” Lydia flutters her eyelashes in an exaggerated manner. “The view isn’t half bad.”

Peter huffs at the both of them. “You’re both drunk.” He stands, dislodging everyone. “Come on, if you don’t want to risk the stairs or elevator you can crash on the bed,” he can just as easily sleep on his couch.

In a tangled sort of mass they make it to his bedroom, where Peter expects nothing will happen…

Really.

-

It’s around four AM when Peter slips from the bed, bare feet padding out into his living space. He makes a bee-line for his piano, slowly opening it so as not to disturb anyone. Resting his fingers on the keys he presses down softly on a C major chord, filling the room with quiet sound.

He plays softly like that for a while, sweet yet ephemeral.

Soft scuffing against his wood floors pulls his attention away from his playing and seconds later a now very familiar pair of breasts press themselves against his bare back. “Jordan’s pouting,” Lydia murmurs, her arms wrapping around his chest. “He wants to cuddle and says it’s not right if you’re not there.”

Peter gives a soft sigh and raising one of his hands takes one of her own and kisses the back of it. “I’m not much of a cuddler, or things like that.” He’s not opposed to the occasion PDA, but he’s overall not a very ‘touchy’ sort of person. “Tell him I’m sorry?”

Lydia’s own sigh, is much gustier and just as exaggerated as her earlier eye fluttering. “Alright, but you owe me.” Her unclaimed hand snakes down and pinches his ass, making him twitch.

But he smiles and kisses her hand again. “Fair enough,” he agrees. Letting go of her hand he returns his to the piano. He plays a little louder than before, since Lydia and Jordan are both clearly awake, but still soft enough to be romantic; Debussy mainly, _Rêverie_ and _Nocturne_ , anything that’s not too boisterous.

All in all he certainly didn’t expect this outcome, but he couldn’t say he regretted it one bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BTW, the fact about not being able to harmonically tune a piano (which is the method you use with every other instrument) [is true](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Hqm0dYKUx4). ~~[And here's naked!Peter for you're enjoyment.](http://catvampcrazines.tumblr.com/post/130349625868/whenwolfsbaneblooms-woman-do-you-see-this-im)~~

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure when I'll have part two up, since I'm basically focused on getting the majority of the work on my new main Pydian project done before I start posting it (Halloween y'all!).
> 
> [Der Erlkönig](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JS91p-vmSf0)   
>  [Stravinksy's Piano Sonata](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TyaMbo6ABUw)


End file.
